


In my dreams, you are mine ( as I am yours)

by SantuariosYue



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley really likes Aziraphale but will not admit it, Daemons, Dreaming, M/M, Pining, fic of someone else’s fic, go read the parent fic it’s dynamite, i wrote this while working, probably should wait to edit but I’m too thirsty for validation, this is my first published fic on here omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SantuariosYue/pseuds/SantuariosYue
Summary: When Crowley takes his long rest, dreams.(This won’t make sense unless you read “Made Flesh” by rfsmiley, which you absolutely should)





	In my dreams, you are mine ( as I am yours)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rfsmiley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rfsmiley/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Made Flesh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700252) by [rfsmiley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rfsmiley/pseuds/rfsmiley). 



Revolutions had burned the passion out of Crowley. 

Life didn’t taste the same when you were inhaling the ashes of burning cities daily and when the rivers were watering the meadows with the blood of angry citizens. The constant screaming and calls for justice and democracy deafened the ear to any other melody. How could a person, not that he was a person, live surrounded by death? 

A worn out demon. Time continues to bring him new surprises, if only the worst and least convenient. 

Thus, Crowley schedules a nap. 

Having served so thoroughly and so wickedly for so long has really garnered him a lot of time off, apparently, and the Bosses down below only cackle at the level of sloth such down time could accrue. Thank whoever, he really does not have the energy to persuade anyone of anything right now. 

Crowley doesn’t think of the angel immediately when setting his affairs in order for the coming sleep, but he’s a close second. After pillows, blankets, a magically suspended fire so he’s never cold, and an appropriately, ridiculously comfortable bed, does he think of Aziraphale.

He isn’t....loathe to go so long without seeing him, because why would he be? Their agreement may not be binding but it’s as good as, and Aziraphale certainly isn’t likely to go off consorting with any other demon that comes his way. He has taste. 

No, Crowley is just feeling tired and cranky, is all. He isn’t going to be missing their lunches, or little moments by the duck pond where their fingers sometimes brush. It’s just exhaustion clouding over all his other emotions. If he were in his right mind, he wouldn’t even be thinking of Aziraphale. 

In the end, he curriers a brief message about the impending slumber to Aziraphale, and resolutely does not wait for a response. He doesn’t need one, what he needs is a good long rest. 

He bathes in oils flecked with gold. He eats rare game and drinks wine aged a thousand years. He dries himself with kid skins and ties back his hair with purple velvet. 

Crowley lays on his bed of silks and pillows of down. He does not think of Aziraphale in his shop, about to face the long years alone. He does not imagine the angel’s downturned mouth as he reads Crowley’s missive. He does not stretch his arms out over his wide bed, feeling empty at its lack of warm or smell of old books. 

Crowley closes his eyes and rests.

———

In the broken way of dreams, Crowley experiences many strange things. 

He dreams he crawls out of his own high window and is buffeted by a thunderous windstorm high above the city, drifting until he crashes into thatched roof. Shaking himself off, he peers around at a much larger world then he is used to but that does not seem unusual. Spying a rat scurrying in a nearby underbrush, he jumps downs and gives ferocious chase. He is pleased to be untethered and free, nothing else matters at all.

———

In another fragment, he seems to be searching for something he cannot find. He wants it desperately, this unknown specter of desire, wants it so much and so loudly, but he is having trouble finding it. All of what seem to be his usual places are empty of this alluring entity, and his want grows with monstrous speed at its absence. 

His whole world shrinks down to the need to find whatever this thing is. His body feels tight and desperate, his pulse a rapid drumbeat as he stalks the streets in despair. Every step forward he feels more weighed down by this desire, tired of carrying it and tired of being denied of what he wants.

He slinks about some bushes, batting at rats and low nesting birds with little enthusiasm when he hears a soft huffing noise that lights his entire being aflame with excitement. 

Standing across the way, peering out from underneath flaxen curls stands the Desire. 

Perking up considerably at finally having found what he wanted, Crowley trots over, head raised vainly, and without a so much by your leave, walks right inside to splay out on the floor in contentment. 

His Desire stares at him and he stares back. Of course his Desire is the best of them all. Soft and seemingly supple. Neither too young or too old. Kind features and a calm demeanor. Everything about him is appealing to Crowley totally and completely, without question. 

His Desire huffs again and turns to close the door behind him. Crowley croons lowly in satisfaction. 

All is right. 

———

Crowley feels himself stirring at this point, but stubbornly refuses to wake. His dreams are so lovely and soft, full of all that he desires - who would want to leave that for a cold, empty life? A life where all of his desires are forever out of his reach? 

Not he! Crowley sinks further into his down pillows and lets the scent of his dreams - wool and old books - overcome him as he drifts to sleep again. 

———

Crowley doesn’t always stay with his Desire. He goes out about in London, hunting mice, glowering from great heights and flying after songbirds. Every few days he’ll visit, check in to make sure all is right and in its proper place, unbothered, then traverse about again. He need to be free nearly equals the need to be with his Desire, and so he comes and goes.

One day, he returns to find his Desire packing away his great many books into a great many boxes. He feels more and more uneasy as the hours go by and the mountain of boxes grows ever higher. His Desire is perfect in all ways as he is, why must he move and disrupt and change this perfect order? 

Crowley slinks into a dark corner and glowers at everything. He doesn’t like change unless he makes it. 

His Desire looks over at him thoughtfully, and perhaps...a little fondly? Unable to help himself, Crowley feels a little cheerier at the interest and eyes his Desire as he sets his latest book down and walks over to Crowley’s corner. 

Kneeling down, his Desire quietly says, “ There are mice there too. Best help me with those.” 

The feeling that overcomes Crowley in that moment is heady. His Desire wants him openly to join him in his new accommodations. Not just as an interloper, but as an invited guest! No more slinking or sneaking without invitation, but the prime spots of relaxation and convalescence will be his for the taking! All because his Desire wants him too! 

Crowley thrashes about in delight as his Desire watches on. Let him. Let him look at Crowley and nothing else. Let Crowley be a magnificent, captivating spectacle that entrances his Desire so that all he sees is Crowley. 

———

Crowley is so happy. The new place is larger and brighter and warmer then the last. He has many spots from which to perch and eye his Desire with impunity.

He is so happy. He is so, so happy. He has never been happy in his life. How can anyone be this happy? 

Crowley is happy with his Desire, happy that he is Crowley’s and only Crowley’s, happy that he seems content in his little life and spending all his time with Crowley.

Crowley is so happy and he never wants it to end. He wants to spend Eternity with his Desire; forever by his side. 

He loves his Desire. 

He loves A- 

———

Crowley wakes to his face covered in tears.

His whole body protests as he sits up. Bones cracking and creaking, he reaches up and wipes the tears away. He wonders what he was dreaming about. Inside his chest is tight and it feels harder to breathe then normal. 

What could possibly hurt Crowley so badly in his dreams that he would weep from it? 

Stretching, Crowley pushes the thought away. His stomach growls as his bones pop. He smiles. 

Aziraphale would know the best restaurants this new century had to offer, and Crowley would make sure he showed him every single one.


End file.
